


Busy Hands

by nyagosstar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5879809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyagosstar/pseuds/nyagosstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem's first couple years with the Chargers. He keeps his head down, keeps busy, and learns to make his own place. With nugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busy Hands

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt, "Krem's first time in charge of the Chargers." It's not exactly on the nose, but it gets us pretty close.
> 
> Also, you should all thank @heronfem for reading an earlier version of it and pointing out all the places I needed to slow down. It's 100% better because of her help.

_Busy hands, Still mind._

Embroidered in gold and crimson it was his mother’s favorite expression and his very first project. Just old enough to hold a needle, Krem had worked on the piece for days and days, the stitches shaky and uneven, but in the end complete. On fine, delicate linen, his mother framed it and hung it above his bed as a point of pride and also a reminder. Be still, be quiet, don’t question. When he failed, as he often did—fidgeting and restless at the best of times—she’d repeat the phrase and press a project into his hands.

His father liked the quiet and his mother liked it when his father was happy.

Krem did as he was told, mending and sewing. Before long, he took over some of the overflow work from his father’s shop. It seemed his hands were always busy, but the stillness of mind never came. He’d seen his father disappear into the work, lost in the repetitive motion of his labor and come out hours later as if waking from a dream. All Krem found in busy hands was _more_ room to think. 

He kept the habit of busy hands long after he left his father’s house, and then Tevinter. He didn’t mind the space to think, so much, when he had better things to think about. His fidgeting looked purposeful and if he seemed busy, the other Chargers were less likely to try and involve him in their endless arguments. He didn’t care who ate the last roll (Beaver) or who borrowed what without asking (Grit, Hammer’s whetstone). He cared that he had a steady job, a place to sleep, and nobody to hassle him.

So, when they were done traveling for the day, camp set, tents pitched and evening duties dispersed, Krem found a quiet spot and took to sewing. It was an automatic choice. His hands knew the motion almost better than anything else, and there was always mending to be done. He darned socks, patched rents from unblocked blades and fixed the seams of fallen hems. A few of the Chargers, the younger ones, tried to give him shit for it, but stopped pretty quick the first time they needed their gear fixed. Krem threw a need and some thread at them and sent them off. He was aware of the Chief watching the whole process, but he didn’t say shit, so Krem figured it was okay. 

It took a couple months, but eventually, he ran out of things to fix. The fluttering feeling in his fingers at the end of a long day didn’t go away. He picked up extra tasks, helped with the horses and supplies all in an effort to mute the itchiness in his hands at the prospect of inactivity. 

He took advantage of their next stop in a real city to put his share of their earnings into decent fabric, batting, buttons and good thread. The idea came to him on the road to Val Royeaux and the challenge of his plan was almost as exciting as their latest battle. He’d never done something like it before and once the idea took hold, he couldn’t shake it. He planned during his idle moments and by the time he had the materials in hand, he was almost bouncing in his saddle to give it a try. 

They camped that night, headed out of the city, and he went to work. The body came together well enough, oblong and just a little lopsided. He just started work on the head when the Chief dropped down next to him. 

“What you working on there, Krem Puff?” He hammed up his grin, even as Krem rolled his eyes. From anyone else, Krem would have been annoyed at the constant nicknames, but the Chief was so pleased with himself when he thought of a new one. It was like watching a kid bring home an abandoned puppy, asking if they could keep it.

“Just keeping busy.” He wasn’t ready to share the project yet. Maybe if it turned out okay.

“You did good work with the Duke.”

Krem leaned into fabric to keep his face pointed down. “He just needed a light touch.”

The Chief grunted. “It was quick thinking. I like it. When we hit Montfort, I want you to take point on reconnaissance.” 

He knew a test when he heard one, and Krem was ready. There were lots of things he liked about the Chargers. Being a part of something, having his work matter. Respect. But there were also things that could work better. Didn’t seem his place to talk to the Chief about it, though. Not when he was so new. “Will do, Chief.”

“Good talk.” He drained his tankard and hauled himself to his feet before wandering off to the far side of the camp where there was a round of Wicked Grace underway.

*

The Chief gave him a couple of the Chargers to lead through staking out their next job. It wasn’t much of a challenge, he figured the Chief was just sounding him out, but it was kind of nice to be in charge. He fell back on his training from Tevinter and the bits he’d picked up since leaving. He handed out assignments and then spent the next couple hours being still and watching. 

He reported back after he was sure they were clear and watched as the Chief led the main company of the Chargers in to do the job. It was hard not to be part of the action, but it was good, too, knowing that his information helped keep them safe. Seemed as good a trade off as any. 

After, they stopped at an inn to drink off some of their wages. Stills tried too hard to get the attention of their server. Krem himself was tempted by the tall man’s sweet smile and easy way, but he was still running high on the thrill of the job and the attention from the other Chargers, so he let Stills have his fun.

Halfway through the night, the Chief joined him at his table and set a tankard in front of him. “Good job, today.”

Krem took a drink to hide his smile. “Thanks.”

“What could have gone better?”

For a second, Krem thought it was a rhetorical question. Lots of the Chargers had been asking similar questions throughout the night. But there was an edge to the Chief’s words and Krem set his tankard down to consider the question.

“Pitch isn’t light enough on her feet. It worked out okay because there wasn’t anyone on guard. The Twins spend more time talking to each other than worrying about look out.” He didn’t think the Chief was asking about the Chargers as a whole, but since he had the opportunity, well. “Near everyone needs more work with their shields. And, it wouldn’t hurt to have a mage or two in our ranks, too.”

“Don’t really like that magic crap.”

Krem shrugged. He’d never seen one of the Qunari mages before, but he’d heard about them, Giant and collared. Krem’s own interactions with mages hadn’t ever been so great, but they were good in a fight. “The other side seems to like them just fine. And it’d be useful to keep our people from getting caught in the middle.”

The Chief made a thoughtful sound and leaned back in his chair. “Anything else?”

It seemed like he wanted something specific, but Krem wasn’t sure what it was. “It was okay.” Which didn’t sound very enthusiastic for the first bit of responsibility he’d been given. “It was fine.” Not much better.

“You want to be somewhere closer to the action?” There was a hint of a laugh, it wasn’t cruel, but closer to understanding.

“It was important, but,” he shrugged. “Yeah. I like being in the middle of the fight better.”

The Chief stood and dropped a hand to his shoulder with a quick squeeze. “Good to know.” He wandered off to check in with another table, and left Krem to watch Stills and his awkward flirting.

Nothing much changed after the first raid. 

Krem stayed on reconnaissance, and got better at keeping his people in line and out of sight. He worked with Pitch and the Twins so they were swift and silent and stayed out of sight. The hand signals he learned in Tevinter were easy enough to teach and soon, he had a little unit that worked together with the kind of efficient that would have made his world captain proud. 

He tried not to think about that too much, though.

In his down time, quiet nights around a campfire or in the occasional tavern, Krem continued his project. The first nug ended up lopsided with a grimace instead of a grin. One of the wings was longer than the other, but it was finished and he was unexpectedly fond of it. He named it Permius after the little cross-eyed cat they had when he was small, and kept it tucked in his pack for good luck. 

He learned from his mistakes with Permius, and the second nug came out perfectly balanced. He stitched in a roguish grin, a patch for one of the eyes and held on to it, waiting for the right moment. 

After a particularly lucrative job, after the casks were drained and most of the Chargers off to bed or passed out where they sat, Krem picked his way over to the Chief. He didn’t quite know what to expect, couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was being ridiculous. The Chief was notoriously bad at accepting gifts that weren’t consumable. What did he need with a stuffed nug? But he kept walking and found himself at the Chief’s side.

“Got something for you, Chief.”

He rumbled in a pleased kind of way. “I don’t need anything.”

“I know. Just, I thought you might like it.” He handed over the nug in a rush and then looked away, over at the campfire and its flickering light. 

“It’s pink!” It was hard to tell if he was enthusiastic or mocking.

“Yeah, well. You know. Nugs.” He cleared his throat and kept looking at the fire, though he could see the Chief turning it in his hands in his peripheral. 

“This what you’ve been working on?” He laughed and Krem’s gut tightened. “Look, it’s got a little eye patch.”

Krem shrugged and tried to figure out how to get up and walk away without looking like he was running. It had been such a mistake. How could he have thought that a stupid little nug could in any way balance out against the loss of an eye?

“I love it.”

Krem turned to him, stunned by the pleased grin spread across the Chief’s face. “What?”

“It’s great.” He trailed a finger over the stitched eye patch and then bumped Krem with his elbow. “Thanks.”

It was all he could do to mutter his reply before he pushed himself up and headed off to his tent. Alone, in the light of a small lantern, though, he started he next nug.

*

His reconnaissance team, in addition to Pitch and the Twins, grew to include a serious and quiet elf they picked on the outskirts of the Free Marches, who the Chief dubbed Square and a surprisingly light-footed dwarf, Harrow. They ran a handful of mostly successful jobs and when they stopped to rest in Denerim, Krem decided to hand out nugs to his team.

His tankard sat in front of him, mostly untouched as it had been all night. Too nervous to eat or drink, he barely made eye contact with his team as they settled around the table. 

“What’s up, boss?” Square was on his right, a little closer than the others.

Krem opened his pack and passed out the nugs, proud that his hands didn’t shake. He was proud of his work, they all turned out nicely, but it was hard to ignore the feeling that he was being silly. Grown people didn’t keep stuffed nugs, and they sure as shit didn’t get them from their mercenary leaders. “I made something for you.” He kept his tone light, trying to ride the edge of lighthearted.

“Aw, it’s like The Bull’s.” Pitch held hers up to the light, then tucked it against her cheek. “I had a stuffed kitty when I was a little bit.” She grinned. “Not so nice as this, though. Thanks, boss.”

The Twins’ nugs were as close to identical as he could make them. They switched them back and forth a few times before they settled and even Krem couldn’t tell which had been given which. Square spent five minutes stroking the wings of her nug, the embroidery patterned after her Vallaslin, before she got up from her seat and kissed him full on the mouth. 

“Nicest thing a shem’s ever done for me. Thanks, boss.”

Harrow was the quietest about the whole thing and Krem almost couldn’t look at him. Of all his crew, it was Harrow he was most worried would think it silly. Dwarves, as a rule, tended toward stone and gems and rock as things of meaning. A soft, sewn nug, not so much. 

He shrugged though, tucked it in his side pouch and bought them a round of drinks. 

The Chief caught him on his way to bed, loose limbed and happy. “Now they’re yours. Understand?”

He did. That was the whole point. “Yeah.”

*

The recon gig worked for a year before things started to change. The Twins’ mother got sick and they decided the mercenary way of life was no way to care for her. He and Square fell into bed together for about three months before she took an arrow to the shoulder that left her fingers numb. She’d saved enough to buy a little place in Redcliffe, asked Krem to stay, but he wasn’t ready to be off the road yet.

Harrow and Pitch stayed, though, and helped him train the next round. The three new comers got their nugs after the first successful job. Krem had a little bit of the Chief’s ear and it felt good to be relied on to do his part for the Chargers.

It _all_ felt pretty good until Verchiel.

Some noble was at odds with some other noble and wanted the Chargers to go in and clear out the rival’s storehouse. On the outskirts of the city, it should have been easy enough and that was why the Chief took the job. The noble seemed earnest, in the way nobles often did in their self-serving way, and nothing was weird until they were out in the field.

The storehouse was at deep in a copse of trees, with a single dirt path leading in and out. It seemed like a strange place to keep important things, but sometimes nobles could be weird. 

Krem led his team through their initial recon, and everything was smooth, but Krem couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It should have been fine, but it didn’t feel that way. But the Chief seemed happy, and the Chief’s second, Hammer, seemed happy and it wasn’t his place to argue.

Under the cover of night, the set out for their final reconnaissance, and Krem kept a tight hold on his team. He let Pitch take point, ordered them to take extra care and did his best to tamp down the thrumming of his heart that sent his pulse racing like he was already running. 

He wished he had something to do with his hands and settled for tucking them tight under his arms and not pacing.

Eventually, Pitch loped back around to his position. “Everything looks good, boss.” She slinked in next to him, her voice no more than a breath at his ear. 

“You sure?” He knew she was sure, she wouldn’t have come back if she wasn’t.

She nodded. “Checked and double checked.”

“Nothing weird?”

She was patient with his question, which was more than he deserved. “Not a thing.”

He blew out a short breath, hesitated, and then headed back to the Chief. “We’re all clear.”

“You don’t seem happy about it.” The Chief’s mood was up, the way it always was before the prospect of a fight.

“I’d feel better if there was something out there waiting for us. It’s too quiet. Feels weird.”

The Chief stared at him for a minute and Krem tried not to shift. He shouldn’t have said anything. “All right. Pack it in.” His voice is pitched just loud enough to carry through the company.

“What?” His own question is echoed by Hammer. 

“You heard me. We’re not doing it.”

Hammer threw him a dark look. “But he said it was clear.”

“Yeah, and he also said it was funny. What’s the point of having a reconnaissance team if you don’t listen to them?”

“So, we just walk away from all that coin?”

Krem wished he could slink away unnoticed, but Hammer kept looking in his direction, furious. He should have kept his mouth shut. It was a lot of coin.

The Chief shrugged and swung his axe back up into its place between his shoulders. “Coin’s not worth much if you’re dead.”

Hammer swung his gaze between them for a minute before he spat on the ground. “This is bullshit. What’s he know?” Instead of sheathing his sword, he head it aloft. “Chargers! Anyone as wants to get paid, follow me.” Hammer roared in wordless challenge and then started a charge toward their target. 

A handful of the Chargers, new ones or young ones, followed Hammer out of the clearing, but most stayed behind.

“Go get your boys.” The Chief’s voice was soft, though his face could have been cast in stone for all the expression it had. He stared off after Hammer, didn’t even flinch as the first explosion rocked the air around them. “Hurry, now.”

Krem ran through the night woods, pitched his whistle to draw his team to him. Within moments nearly all were at his heels, silent and drawn.

“Where’s Scales?”

“Saw the charge, ran off after Hammer.”

Another explosion, closer and the sound of drawn blades cut the night. “Get out of here, head back to camp. We’re pulling out.”

“What about you, boss?” Pitch lingered as the others started off.

“He’s just a kid. I can’t leave him to that,” he gestured toward the growing fire. “Get out of here. I’ll do it right knowing the rest of you are safe.” He loped off before she could stop him. Even if the Chief hadn’t told him to round up his people, he would have gone after them. They were his. 

The forest was on fire. 

He kept low to the ground, his scarf over his face to block the worst of the smoke, but it wasn’t long before he couldn’t see more than an arm’s length in front of his face. His lungs burned. His eyes streamed with tears. The heat of the fire flashed along his body, but he kept moving, searching. 

Scales was still pretty green. He shouldn’t have been able to get far on his own, not without a lot of luck and lucked seemed to be out of their range that night.

It wasn’t long before he started stumbling, sometimes literally, over the first bodies. Chargers caught in the initial blast, some lost to blades still lodged in their throats. Krem squeezed his eyes shut at the loss, and made himself move on.

The sounds of the fighting died away, but the fire raged on. Too hot, too bright, the smoke too thick to breath. He’d have to turn back soon, before he’d need his own rescue. But the thought that Scales was just ahead, just a few more steps away kept pushing him forward. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try with everything he had to get his boy back.

An exposed root caught his foot and he fell, face first into the hot soil. He coughed out a mouthful of dirt and as he reached out to push himself up, he planted his right hand into something soft, and damp. 

Krem leaned in. It was Scale’s leg, bloodied and torn, much like the rest of him. 

Scales was badly burned, and didn’t make a sound as Krem dragged them both up and started back toward camp. The weight of Scales over his shoulders was almost too much to bear. Between the smoke and the heat, Krem stumbled more than once, going down to one knee. He wanted to rest, but knew if he stopped, if he gave in, the fire at his heels would consume them both. 

He narrowed his focus, pushed out everything except moving forward. By the time he reached the clearing, His shoulders and chest ached. He couldn’t breathe without coughing. His ears were ringing and the edges of his vision were black.

When he handed the kid over to their new healer, the tight corners of Stitches mouth told the whole story. He let someone lead him away and press a potion into his hand, and, when he didn’t move, tip it into his mouth. 

Stitches came to him a while later. Dawn was just beginning to brighten the horizon, though the air was still thick with smoke. He didn’t say anything about Scales, but the drawn lines of his face told Krem everything he needed to hear.

He checked over Krem in silence, listening to his breathing, patching up his bloody palms and a wound he didn’t remember getting on his shoulder. “Drink this, it will—“

“I don’t care.” He grabbed the potion and downed it in one go, relieved, _so fucking relieved_ , when it carried him into sleep.

*

The Chief was sitting at his side, reading through some letters when Krem woke. He looked tired, but not angry. Not like Krem was about to get fired. He’d seen the Chief kick people out before, and there was almost always a lot of shouting, sometimes things got thrown—tankards, buckets, punches. No, the Chief looked calm.

“You’re up.” He sounded calm, too.

Krem nodded, tried to answer and ended up coughing for a good minute or two before he got himself under control. He took the waterskin the Chief handed him gratefully. “How bad is it?”

“Everyone who went with Hammer.”

Krem closed his eyes and fell back against the cot. A dozen of their people, maybe more, all gone. “Scales?”

“Died this morning.” There was a gentleness to the Chief’s tone, but Krem couldn’t bear to turn his head and look at him. He didn’t want to see the compassion. It wasn’t just Krem’s loss. It belonged to all of them. “I’m thinking you might be right about having a mage on board. I put the word out that we’re recruiting.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m in the market for a new lieutenant. You interested?”

He turned, sat up and tried to work out words past the ache in his chest. “You want me? After what happened?”

“Hammer was on his way out for the last couple months. I should have cut him loose a while back, that’s my fault, that’s on me. I’ve been watching you with your people, and you’re good. You’re good at leading and building loyalty. You notice shit, and it makes for a better team. The job is yours, if you want it.” He stood and dropped a hand to Krem’s shoulder. “Nothing about what happened last night is your fault. It’s hard to hear, sometimes, but it’s the truth. We all make our own decisions. Every one of us.” He headed toward the tent flap, but Krem couldn’t let him just go. 

“Wait.” He drew a breath, edged with smoke and the lingering scent of blood and elfroot. “I’ll take the job.”


End file.
